Playing Favorites
by Lilith Naamah
Summary: She was always his favorite student....


Playing Favorites

She was always his favorite student…

He said that about many of his students. Favorites were a good way of getting allies, and nice posh things to show off to other favorite students. Tom Riddle had been one of his favorite students, along Lucius Malfoy and Tiberius Mclaggen. Many, many members of his Slug Club, and he always talked about them as though they were his favorites. Somehow though, she always meant more to him.

He remembered when she first stepped into his classroom. Bright eyes, fiery hair and cheeks flushed from the cool of the dungeon where he held class. He had taken one look at Lily Evans and had known instantly that she would be something special. And, he hadn't been wrong either. On that first day, she had created the finest boil cure potion he had seen in years. It was better than anyone in his own house that year. Even Severus Snape, who showed so much talent it was almost unbelievable, didn't quite compare to her.

Such talent in an eleven-year-old. He had immediately spoken to her after class, inviting her to a Slug Club meeting. A girl with that much innate ability would be so important to his collection. He simply could not pass her up.

As usual, he had been right. She had come to the meeting, and had been a total success. Sweet, vivacious and opinionated, she had held her ground against others twice her age with ten times better heritage. Yes, that was the other thing that had amazed her. Miss Evans was a Muggleborn. A Mudblood. He had been completely surprised when he had learned that tidbit about her blood from a snide and angry Lucius Malfoy.

_"Professor, _why_ is that Mudblood here?" Seventeen years old, and Mr. Malfoy could already sneer better than the haughtiest aristocrat. Right now, that annoying little sneer was directed at Miss Evans, who blushed but met his gaze with the fire that her hair seemed to embody. Mr. Malfoy continued on as though she didn't exist. "Really Professor, we don't need her type."_

"_And _what_ exactly is my type? Last I checked there wasn't a difference between you and me!" The type of response any eleven-year-old would give, but she had such spirit, her green eyes fairly burned. _

_Mr. Malfoy clucked condescendingly at her, as though he were an old man scolding a little girl. Oh, the arrogance given to the aristocracy. "Oh my dear, the differences between our types are too distant to be measured. However if you would like a demonstration I—"_

"_I invited her," he interrupted before Mr. Malfoy said something really crude, "because of her talent. I invited you because of your family connections. I thought I made it absolutely clear that house and family do not matter." Mr. Malfoy was silenced, but now Slughorn was curious. How had a Muggleborn_ _done so well?_

So, he watched her. Through the years, he kept a close watch on her progress, not only in his class, but in all of them. He asked teachers how she was doing and dropped subtle hints with her friends, who brought him gossip about her. By the end of her sixth year, he knew everything about her. He knew her favorite color. He knew that she had a sister— a Muggle— and that James Potter had taken an interest in her. He also knew that she did well in every subject she took, but she especially excelled in Charms and in his own Potions class.

What he never really noticed was that Miss Evans was becoming a woman.

When he first saw her come back for her seventh year, she knocked the air from his lungs. What had once been a gangly stick girl had seemingly overnight blossomed into a lush and vibrant woman. Deep down, he knew that she hadn't changed quickly. No, that had been gradual progress of maturing that was evident in every year he had her as a student thus far. However, this was the first time he had _really _looked at Lily and noticed her as more than his student. It was a horrible revelation.

He did his best to ignore his body and his rebellious emotions. He couldn't let them win. It would be wrong. So very wrong. He could lose his job, and if his other students found out… He shuddered to think about what would happen to his posh living then. So it was that he ignored Miss Evans for most of her final year. He rarely spoke to her, not even to compliment her potions or to defend her in his club meetings; something which greatly delighted his Syltherins. All he could do was watch her.

Now, when he watched her argue in his club with his other favorite students, all he could notice was the way she flushed from the neck up, turning a beautiful shade of pink that seemed to highlight the way her green eyes sparked. When she prepared potions in his class, all he could see were the elegant hands expertly grinding ingredients and stirring cauldrons. He couldn't get her out of his mind, and he was slowly going mad with what he was afraid was lust.

Worse yet, she was starting to notice it. Staying after class and at the end of meetings and trying to ask him questions and corner him. He always managed to get away though, before those confused, and beautiful eyes could tempt him into sins so heinous that he hated himself every night when he thought of those eyes alone in his chambers. Every night it was the same fantasy to wake and go through the same daily torture.

The only thing that kept him going was the fact that she would be leaving at the end of the year. So he kept his distance and kept his thoughts for himself, and he hoped and he prayed that she would never find out. And, for most of the year, it worked. He rarely saw her out of designated times, and he managed to keep his sanity and morality, if only by threads. And, by May, he really thought he was going to make it. If only he had counted on her cleverness and worse, her determination.

It was toward the end of May, just before final exams that she finally cornered him. She looked as beautiful as ever, long hair falling around blushing cheeks and a pink lip caught nervously in her lower lip. Merlin, why did she have to bite her lip? He watched her for a long moment, taking in her youth, her vitality, and then he finally spoke. "Something I can do for you, Miss Evans?"

"Why have you been avoiding me, Professor?" She was direct; he had to give her that. He shuffled papers on his desk uneasily, not looking at her for fear of those green eyes. It was only when she started clearing her throat that he finally decided that he had to answer.

"What makes you think I was avoiding you, Miss Evans? Have I been missing classes that I'm not aware of?" It could have been snide, but there was a note of panic to his voice. And Miss Evans certainly didn't miss it.

"Sir… You _have_ been avoiding me… Why Professor?"

He sighed, lowering his glasses to the table in a dramatic motion, as though resigning himself to a fate worse than death. Perhaps it was. He moved around the table, making his way closer to her, and she… She never suspected a thing. She never moved, her green eyes always remained the same, brave and implacable. So naïve... Before he could even think to stop himself, his fingers had risen, running along the length of her jaw bone. Only then did her eyes flicker with surprise.

"You know, Miss Evans… I've always said you should be in Slytherin… Did you know that?" He watched her shake her head mutely, and his moustache twitched in a would-be smile. "I have… You would have been brilliant in Slytherin…" He stroked her cheek softly, and now Miss Evans—Lily was starting to understand.

"Sir.. What are you doing? Perhaps I shoul—" Oh it was wrong. It was so wrong, but he couldn't help it any longer. He pulled her closer to him and brought his mouth down on hers, kissing her roughly, hungrily. He had lost all his restraint, unable to hold himself back before such beauty. His hands moved roughly over her, pushing back her robe and pulling her uniform top from her skirt. Dimly, her heard her whimpers and her muffled pleas, but he was beyond them now, completely controlled by his own base lusts.

Then, he was suddenly thrown back, a wave of red light hitting him square in the chest and slamming him into his desk. He looked up at her with wide eyes, and he finally saw his mistake.

She was a mess. Swollen lips, tousled hair, her clothes rumpled and disheveled. But, what was worse was the look in her eyes. A horrible mix of fear anger and disgust, she had never looked at him like that. Ever. "Miss Evans…" He simply couldn't find the words that he wanted to say, and his mouth was dry as sand. Either way, she didn't give him a chance. A second later, she had fled the room, heading back to her room and the safety of James Potter's arms.

A month later, after the students had gone, Professor Slughorn stood in his office in the dungeons, packing his suitcases and his boxes. Professor Dumbledore stood at the entrance, watching him with a solemn look in his usually twinkling eyes. "Are you we cannot convince you to stay, Horace?" He was saying as Slughorn packed away his things, his precious treasures that he had collected over the years. "I do not see how I shall ever replace you. You've been teaching potions for about forty years now…"

"I know Albus… I know, but I think it's time for me to stop… Perhaps enjoy what time I have left…" He finished packing and turned toward the headmaster, careful to avoid making eye-contact with the older man. It was much too dangerous. To think of the shame… The horrible shame…

As though from far away, he heard Albus sigh. "All right, Horace, I seem to be unable to stop you… You shall be missed…" And the headmaster finally left him in peace.

Sighing, Slughorn spelled his boxes to levitate and led them out of the room. He was careful never to glance in the mirror that hung in the wall by the door. He couldn't stand the idea of looking himself in the mirror right now. He was afraid to see the man he had become.

To think, she had been his favorite student.


End file.
